


Fuck Your Quinoa & Fuck Your Kale.

by TheAstronomer



Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hardy - Fandom
Genre: Comfort Food, FUCK ME IT'S TOM HARDY, Gen, Short One Shot, Sweary Tom Hardy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 16:21:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14024037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAstronomer/pseuds/TheAstronomer
Summary: If you don't like weird flights of fancy involving Tom Hardy or are looking for smut, move on from this one.  This is a bit weird and has no smut, of the sexual kind anyway. On a serious note, you probably shouldn't read this if you have any issues with food as it may be a trigger for you.I am in no way suggesting Tom Hardy would behave in this way. It's just supposed to be a bit of fun.This fic came about after a strange and wonderful discussion with Wysiwygot.  This is for you Wysi! Incidentally, if you like Taboo and the wonderful James Keziah Delaney, go and read her fic 'To Be of Use' on the Taboo fandom, you won't regret it.





	Fuck Your Quinoa & Fuck Your Kale.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wysiwygot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wysiwygot/gifts).



Tom stood patiently in line in Whole Foods. Well, as patient as he ever got in queues, bobbing from foot to foot, energy twanging madly around him like a loose ping pong ball. Not patient at all. He was surrounded by all manner of healthy food – aisles and aisles of the stuff, staring back at him in all its smug, organic glory. He sighed.

He'd already done three fan photos on the way to the shop, one involving an elderly Chihuahua which smelt like death, actually. It didn't bother Tom, he always smelt vaguely of dog anyway, their hairs all woven into his clothes like an extra layer, a badge of honour (at least as far as he was concerned). It drove Charlotte mad. _Use the lint roller, love! I bought it for the bloody dog hair!_

His empty stomach growled.

Tom looked down at the carton he held in his hand: Kale, Quinoa and Edamame Salad _. A tumbling of bejewelled quinoa, crisp kale and comforting Edamame beans anointed with a refreshing lime and ginger dressing_. Fucking hell. _Why the fuck is the quinoa bejewelled? Oh, I see – poxy pomegranate seeds._ Tom hated pomegranate seeds: gritty little bastards that popped in his mouth like satan's semen, _er.. he'd imagine_. Too late to change it now. He glanced at the bottle of sparkling mineral water. _Fresh Scottish mineral water, captured at source in Auchtermuchty and infused with invigorating bubbles. Fuck's sake! How do you capture water?!_ His heart sank a little further.

  
He shuffled forward meekly, clutching his boring lunch. Training for Venom had been hard. It had been chicken and broccoli. Broccoli and chicken. Long hard sessions at the gym that nearly broke him. _Like fucking Warrior all over again. I'm only little, one of these days I'm gonna collapse like a house of cards! Getting too old for this shite._ He flexed his wrist and listened to the strange click that had recently developed...Oh, something was starting to rise in him, here, in this queue, in Whole Foods in Richmond; some swelling emotion he couldn't quite name yet.

  
Finally, he got to the head of the queue. He held out his salad and water to the shop assistant, glanced to see if he knew them. He pretty much knew all the assistants in the shop now, he was here a lot. _Hm, not this one. Oh dear. But she knows me._

He saw the dawning recognition, the too-long initial stare, the shy dropping of the eyes and then flicker back to his face. He could almost hear the cogs turning.

FUCK ME, IT'S TOM HARDY!

Her hands fluttered up to her face, tucking her hair behind her ear; cheeks flushed and brown eyes darting to his hands. _Very sweet actually. No. No, I've not got time for this now...concentrate Hardy._ He noted her name badge: Kate.

'Hi,' he said. 'Been busy today?'

'Yeah,' she said breathlessly. 'First shift, you know?'

'Ah always the hardest.'

Then Tom faltered. His eyes fell upon some chocolate muffins by the cash desk. Organic, of course, and made with cacao and honey. _Or some fucking healthy shit like that_. He stared at them, for a little too long. They looked like normal fucking muffins, but they lied. They LIED. The girl's eyes followed his to the imposter baked goods.

'You want one?' She smiled at him. _Oh, innocent child._

He gulped, bit his lip. The girl leaned in towards him, conspiratorially. A nice clean scent emanated from her. His nostrils flared. She whispered:

'Or is it a real, actual muffin you want. These are minging. Disgusting.'

Tom's eyes widened and he looked at her properly now. She nodded, grinning.

'I know how it is sometimes,' she continued. 'Mostly I eat healthily but sometimes...' She trailed off and winked at him. _Actually winked_! That was _his_ job, _he_ winked at people, _he_ helped put starstruck fans at ease with a few words, a hug. He looked at the girl, she was some kind of angel apparently. He felt wrong-footed and off kilter. _But yes, oh yes, he did want a fucking real chocolate muffin..._

The rest of the transaction passed in a blur for Tom. A strange beat had set up in his head. A faraway chant. _Choc-olate muffin. Choc-olate muffin_. _Choc-olate muffin._  He did manage to remember to thank the girl, wagged a finger at her.

'You're an angel, do you know that?'

She didn't answer but smiled gently. Tom stuffed his earphones back into his ears, swiped the music back on and strode with purpose to the exit. Lyrics flooded his brain:

 _Watch these rap niggas get all up in your guts_  
_French-vanilla, butter-pecan, chocolate-deluxe_  
_Even caramel sundaes is getting touched_  
_And scooped in my ice cream truck, who tears it up_

He scrabbled the earphones out again. _NOT fucking ice cream as well._

A woman stepped out into his path, clutching her phone in her hand.

'Tommy!' she gasped, reeling back from him, adoration glinting in her eye.

But she barely registered with Tom, he barrelled past her, knocking her slightly to the side. The contact brought him briefly to his senses.

'Ah.. Sorry, love. Sorry sweetheart, I'm just in a bit of a ...hurry. Here...'

Tom thrust the salad box and bottle of water into her hands. He didn't wait to see her confused face and actually started to jog. He must get home, he knew exactly what he was going to do, what he HAD to do. Shop fronts and faces blurred as he broke into a proper run now...

WAIT! The tattoo parlour hoved into view, somehow in glorious relief against its surroundings. He came to an abrupt halt outside the enticing black doorway, panting and leaning against the window frame. His mind buzzed and clattered in his ears. _Get a tattoo instead! It'll … distract me_. _Yeah._  The dark interior was calling him in. _No, no, not a rage-tattoo – what would I get? A fucking pomegranate seed? An edamame bean?_ He glanced down at the LEO KNOWS ALL abomination on his inner arm.  _No, fuck that!_

  
Tom turned away from the tattoo parlour and pressed on. A proper sort of rage had now risen in him, propelling him onwards. A rage against chicken and broccoli and kale and … _and fucking WHEATGERM!_ He ran at full pelt, aware only of his legs carrying him, his lungs sucking in air.

  
Soon he was home. Fumbled madly with the keys at the door and finally flew headlong into the kitchen. No-one else was in. _Thank fuck!_ Like some kind of demented homing device, he darted towards a certain cupboard in the kitchen, not thinking at all now, just like a … _fucking terminator. I absolutely will not stop until..._.

  
He pushed past the other packets on the shelf. This cupboard was taboo, verboten, a no-go area in the Hardy household, for visiting guests and children only. _Wagon Wheels, chocolate mini rolls, dark chocolate Digestive biscuits, HobNobs... HobNobs?! What the fuck were those boring bastards doing in here?! Jammy Dodgers.. Oh!_

  
His hand fell on the brown paper bag that he knew all along was in there. It had been haunting him since yesterday when he'd surreptitiously watched Charlotte deposit it into the depths of the cupboard. Only now did he realise how far the contents of that bag had managed to embed themselves in his sugar-starved mind. Chocolate muffins.  _Real_ chocolate muffins.

  
At first, he just nibbled, determined to enjoy the experience as the rare occurrence it was – it was essentially a food-wank but he wanted to make it last. But it didn't work out that way... soon he was cramming, stuffing, forcing the cheap chocolate treat into his mouth, devoid of fibre, devoid of any goodness whatsoever and full of glorious, glorious sugar and fat. A berserker frenzy had overtaken him. He moaned in delight, then glanced around, suddenly embarrassed. Soon, he'd eaten four, his face and beard smeared in chocolate. But it wasn't enough... something else was knocking insistently at the door of his memory.

He wrenched the fridge door open and impatiently cast aside the pressed apple juice, the wheatgerm milk, the endless bottles of mineral water until his eye fell upon the prize he sought. _Fucking Grade A banana milk! Yesss! Ok, so it’s organic but FUCK IT!_

He drank and drank. The full litre bottle, until it ran down his face, pooled around his neck. Standing there in front of the open fridge door, covered in crumbs and chocolate and sweet, sweet sticky banana milk. Finally, he fell back against the kitchen wall and the door of fridge swung shut with a satisfying _thunk. Is there ice cream in the freezer?_ His hand reached for the handle.

  
‘TOM?!’

  
It was Charlotte, horrified, in the kitchen doorway, a jute bag of organic vegetables clutched in her hand. Tom froze.

  
‘Oh... shit,' he said.

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, this is all an outrageous lie. And there is no way that Tom Hardy smells like dog. Lyrics are from ‘Ice Cream' by Raekwon.
> 
> Not everyone will recognise the food I listed in the cupboard but rest assured it's all terrible British shit.
> 
> I like to think that Tom Hardy swears as much as this.


End file.
